


An Artist

by the_sky_is_forever



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clueless Enjolras, Love Confessions, M/M, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 12:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12705291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sky_is_forever/pseuds/the_sky_is_forever
Summary: Grantaire is a semi-famous singer. Enjolras never realised. Looking back, it was pretty obvious.“Grantaire doesn't have an album,” Enjolras repeats. “I'm his friend, I think I would know if he was a singer. And he's not in love with me. What are you talking about?”“Are we talking about the same Grantaire?” the stranger asks.





	An Artist

**Author's Note:**

> this was fun
> 
> there was someone i wanted to dedicate this to bc they have pretty much every single one of my fics bookmarked but i wrote who it was in a note on my phone and my phone broke sooo....sorry to that person  
> hopefeuilly at some point i can recover the contents of my phone but i dont see that happening bc i have! no! money! fuck! capitalism! so, sorry person. i love u

A girl comes up to Grantaire, visibly flustered, in the middle of a group discussion. Enjolras spares her an irritated look when it interrupts the actually interesting comment Grantaire was making, but moves onto a different point instead of waiting for Grantaire to finish his conversation.

He keeps glancing over at the conversation between Grantaire and the girl, somewhat curious. He’s a little surprised that both Grantaire and the girl are red-faced and grinning sheepishly. The pair take a selfie together, and Grantaire gives her a hug.

It’s a weird interaction, but Enjolras doesn’t care enough to ask about it.

The girl is gathering herself to leave, pulling her bag onto her shoulder, when she blurts out, far louder than the rest of the conversation, “Would you like my number?”

It stops Enjolras in the middle of a sentence with its loudness, and the group all glance over at Grantaire, who’s redder than ever. So is the girl, clearly embarrassed about asking. “Never mind,” she says, clearly aware that everyone’s looking at her. “Sorry,” she says. “People probably try to get your number all the time. Embarrassing.”

Grantaire shakes his head. “No!” he says. “No, I’d love your number!”

It’s a shambles of an interaction, and Enjolras is amazed, because he’s seen Grantaire flirt before, and he’s usually self-confident and assured in every move he makes, but this is nothing like that.

Combeferre nudges Enjolras gently, and Enjolras starts talking again, almost automatically, trying to ignore Grantaire’s flustered fumbling at his phone to let the girl type her number in. It’s quite distracting.

Enjolras means to ask Grantaire about it after the meeting, loathe to interrupt their focussed time, but completely forgets to.

 

Enjolras gives Grantaire a lift home after a meeting one night, when Grantaire is so drunk he’s slurring his words and clearly won’t remember a thing the next day. Grantaire fumbles with the buttons to get the radio on, changing it from Enjolras' prefered channel to one that plays exclusively pop music.

The radio DJ's voice blares out into the car: “...of the week! I love this one, I see big things for this young up and coming artist. We'll play it for you, make sure to text in your thoughts! Will this make it to the top ten at the end of the week?”

A surprisingly mellow acoustic song starts playing, and Enjolras tilts his head to listen, just as Grantaire lunges for the radio and turns it off.

Enjolras looks at him. “What did you do that for?”

“Wouldn't want to subject you to my shit music,” Grantaire complains, darkly.

“Figured you changed the radio channel to hear your taste in music instead of mine,” Enjolras replies, shrugging. “Can we put my music on instead, then?”

Grantaire is staring at him.

Enjolras frowns at him breifly glancing away from the road. “What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Grantaire says and turns the radio back on, changing channel so fast when it came on that Enjolras barely caught the sounds of a smooth voice singing. Grantaire turns his body towards Enjolras' in the car as a news reporter starts listing off the day's biggest headlines. “Did you know that song?” he asks.

Enjolras looks over at him quickly. “Should I have? Didn't the DJ say it was new?” he asks.

“It is new,” Grantaire says. “You really didn't know it?”

Enjolras pulls a face. “You all know I don't listen to that kind of radio. If you think I should know a song, send me a link to it.”

Grantaire shakes his head. “Nah,” he says, flopping back into his seat properly. “You'd hate it.”

Enjolras is silent for a second. “It sounded good,” he says, hoping to appease Grantaire a little, unsure where all of this came from.

Grantaire turns away even more, looking out the window. “Don't worry about it,” Grantaire says.

“Why are you making me feel like I've done something wrong?” Enjolras asks, as they enter a roundabout.

“You've not done anything wrong,” Grantaire tells him. “Nothing I wouldn't expect.”

Enjolras frowns and changes into third gear a little more agressively than usual. “I don't get what the big deal is! So I don't know a new song! What does it matter?” he spits angrily.

“It doesn't matter, not in the slightest,” Grantaire says.

“You're impossible,” Enjolras tells him.

“You're not the first to say so,” Grantaire responds. “Whatever, forget all of this, I'm just drunk.”

Enjolras glances at him as they cruise down the street, past rows of houses, the car only lit up by streetlights that they pass, throwing them into orange glow. Neither one of them speaks again until Grantaire thanks him as he gets out of the car.

Enjolras swallows his pride and the awkwardness after the weird fight. “See you at the next meeting?” he asks.

“Sure,” Grantaire says. He keeps the car door open, standing outside and staring in at Enjolras. He looks at a loss. He opens his mouth determinedly and says, “Enjolras, what do I do for a living?”

The question takes Enjolras aback and he stares back for a second. He's certain he's heard Bossuet call Grantaire an artist. “You're a painter, aren't you?” Enjolras says, but not confidently.

Grantaire continues to stare at him for a second. “No,” he says. “I'm not.”

Then he shuts the door and walks away, leaving Enjolras staring after him wondering what the hell just happened.

 

In the middle of a meeting, Joly slams their hand down on a table. Not such an unusual occurance, but this time it's not due to political fervour. Their face is ecstatic, and suddenly Bossuet is letting off a party-popper, and Grantaire has his hands over his face, sinking lower into his chair.

“One hundred thousand!” Joly exclaims. “You did it!”

“What happened?” Enjolras asks, feeling that it had better be something good to have interrupted the meeting. He'd been enjoying Bahorel's talk.

“R hit one hundred thousand twitter followers!” Bossuet tells him.

“Seriously?” Courfeyrac asks, sounding impressed. “I thought I was doing good with five thousand.”

“Five thousand's nothing,” Bossuet replies.

“And neither is one hundred thousand,” Grantaire interrupts, looking more embarrassed than Enjolras would expect. “Come on, I'm hardly John Lennon, can we not do this?”

“I didn't know you had such a big twitter reach,” Enjolras says. It's true, he hadn't known – and he's not entirely sure why Grantaire _does_ have such a following. “You could have told me. There's lots you can do with a following like that.”

Grantaire scoffs. “Right. Because people listen to me.”

“Clearly they want to hear what you have to say. God knows why, though,” Enjolras says. The moment it's passed his lips, he realises how it sounds. “I didn't mean-”

“No, I get it. You don't care about my life, so why should anyone else?” Grantaire asks, and his tone is colder than Enjolras has ever heard it. He bites his lip, and then stands up. “Thanks for the party-popper, Bossuet. I'll see you guys around,” he says, and then leaves.

Bahorel awkwardly shuffles the papers she'd been reading satistics from. Bossuet gathers up the coloured strings he'd set loose. Combeferre puts a hand on Enjolras' arm.

“I really didn't mean-” Enjolras starts to say.

“We know,” Combeferre says. “But Grantaire's worked hard for that following. He's allowed to use it to promote himself and not our group.”

Enjolras opens his mouth to ask what he means, but Combeferre squeezes his arm, stopping him. “Let's finish hearing what Bahorel has to say. After the meeting we can talk about apologising to R.”

But by the time the meeting ends, Enjolras is so caught up with passion for the new cause Bahorel's presented, that the argument is forgotten completely. He goes home with Bahorel to talk more, amazed that he knew so little about this and determined to do better. Bahorel's no different – she's finally being heard; her friend is at the back of her mind completely.

 

The final clue – the one that really makes it click, and he realises what a prize idiot he's been – comes three months later. It's a punch to the gut, when it happens.

He's sitting at an outdoors cafe that he's never been to, when a stranger approaches him.

“Excuse me?” the stranger says. “Are you... You're not who I think you are, are you?”

Enjolras blinks in surprise, looking up from his book. “I'm sorry?”

“Are you... Enjolras?” the stranger asks.

Enjolras closes the book slightly, sitting a little straighter. “I am. Why?”

“Wow,” the stranger says. “I can't believe it's you. I mean, now that I've seen you, I totally get it. Pictures don't quite make you see, but wow. You're... Wow.”

“Um. Thank... you?” he says, confused but pretty sure that was a compliment to his looks. “I'm sorry, who are you?”

“Oh, no one. Uh, just a fan. It must be crazy having him be in love with you like that. Such adoration, you know? And so blatent! I totally get why he feels that way, though. I mean, look at you,” the stranger says, gesturing.

Enjolras feels like he's missed something really crucial to this conversation. “I really don't know what you're talking about, I'm sorry,” he tells the stranger.

The stranger laughs, a startled, amused huff of air. “Uh... Grantaire. I'm talking about Grantaire.”

Enjolras frowns and puts his book down, forgetting to mark the page he was on. “What about Grantaire?” he asks.

“Well, all his songs are about you,” the stranger says. “Practically the entire album is dedicated to you. Took his fans a while to figure it out, but it's you, isn't it? And here you are. We're all just wondering though, how are you such good friends with him?”

Enjolras doesn't understand anything the stranger is saying. “Slow down. What are you talking about? Grantaire doesn't have an album,” he says.

Now it's the stranger's turn to look confused. “What?” the stranger asks.

“Grantaire doesn't have an album,” Enjolras repeats. “I'm his friend, I think I would know if he was a singer. And he's not in love with me. What are you talking about?”

“Are we talking about the same Grantaire?” the stranger asks.

“How many Grantaire's are there?” Enjolras shoots back. “Calls himself R. Half-black guy, type four hair, crooked nose, blind in one eye?” he describes.

“That's him,” the stranger says. “Hold on.” The stranger pulls out a phone and scrolls a bit before handing it over – and there's Grantaire. On a stage. Holding a guitar. Looking utterly at home.

“Grantaire's a singer?” Enjolras asks, more to himself than anything.

“A successful singer,” the stranger says. “I can't believe you didn't know. You're his friend. You're his fucking _muse_.” 

“I...” Enjolras says, helplessly looking at the picture of Grantaire. “The album,” he says. “What's it called? Where can I listen to it?”

“It's on spotify. Just look Grantaire up,” the stranger says, taking the phone back. “Man, I can't believe you didn't know.”

“I...” Enjolras says again. He has no defense.

When Enjolras thinks back over the time he’s known Grantaire, he decides that maybe the clues were all there, but... he didn't know. He had no idea.

“Excuse me,” he says to the stranger. “I've got to... go.”

“Okay,” the stranger says. “Um, enjoy the album? Don't be too hard on Grantaire or anything. I mean, I know he's your friend, but that album... it's intense. Does he know you haven't heard it?”

Enjolras shrugs. “I don't know, I-. I've got to go.” He shoves his book into his bag and stands abruptly. He needs to listen to that album.

 

After the third listen-through, this time with azlyrics.com open on screen to make sure he doesn't miss a word, Enjolras feels like he's floating.

Grantaire's a singer. Grantaire's in love with him. Grantaire makes a living singing about being in love with him.

And Enjolras had no idea.

He calls Grantaire.

“Hey, Enj, what a nice surprise. What can I do for you?” Grantaire says, sounding happy on the other end of the line.

Enjolras hangs up. He swallows tightly and drops his phone onto his bed beside him when Grantaire calls back instantly. After it's rung out, a few texts come through asking if he's okay. He replies that he's fine, and doesn't say anything more than that.

Grantaire's in love with him. Grantaire's  _in love_ with him. Grantaire's in love with  _him_ . What is happening?  _Grantaire_ . Is  _in love_ . With  _him_ . 

He calls Grantaire again.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire asks, sounding a little cautious. “Everything alright?”

“Everything's fine. Everything's great,” Enjolras says. “Um. When were you going to tell me that I was being an idiot?”

Grantaire is quiet for a second. “Is this about...?” he asks.

“Your successful music career that's founded on singing songs about being in love with me, and the fact that everyone knew but me, and the fact that I'm an idiot? Yes, it's about that,” Enjolras says.

Grantaire swears. “Enjolras, look, I'm not expecting anything, and I get that it's creepy and weird and I should move on and get over you, because you're not interested and-”

“R-”

“-I mean, you're probably horrified to find out that one of your friends is writing songs dedicated to your hair, or whatever, but I didn't mean to get famous, and-”

“Grantaire-”

“-I'm just really sorry, okay? Please don't be mad?” Grantaire finishes, sounding a thousand times smaller than when he started.

“Grantaire, I'm not mad,” Enjolras says. “How could I be? R, the album's beautiful.”

Grantaire is silent. Then, “What?”

“R, it's beautiful. You really wrote those songs for me?” he asks.

“Yes?” Grantaire answers, hesitantly.

“Thank you,” Enjolras says, firmly. “That's the most wonderful thing anyone has ever done for me. R, I'm overwhelmed, and I'm so flattered.”

“And you're not mad at me?” Grantaire asks.

“I'm a little mad no one told me about it,” Enjolras admits, but with a laugh, “but I could never be mad about the songs, about- about the way you feel.”

“The way I feel,” Grantaire echoes.

“You're in love with me,” Enjolras says. “And I've never paid the slightest bit of attention to your life.”

“It's okay,” Grantaire says. His voice sounds weak.

“Don't faint,” Enjolras says. “Are you alone?”

“I'm not going to faint,” Grantaire says, but the sound of his voice tells a different story.

“Are you sure?” Enjolras asks.

“Yeah- Yes,” Grantaire comfirms. “I just... don't know what happens now.”

Enjolras smiles to himself in his room. Grantaire's album is still open on the screen of his laptop in front of him – a Grantaire that is confident, comfortable, powerful, beams out from the album cover. An entirely different Grantaire, though somehow the same one, somehow both Enjolras' Grantaire, waits with baited breath for an answer.

“Do you want to come over?” Enjolras asks.

“Why?” Grantaire asks. Everything about the way his voice sounds tells Enjolras that he's scared, that he's unable to believe this.

“Why?” Enjolras echoes. “Grantaire, I can't- I need to see you, okay? Please come. Or should I come to yours?”

“No!” Grantaire exclaims. “No. I'll come. I'll- Just give me half an hour, and I'll be there. Okay?”

“Okay,” Enjolras replies, calmly, fighting a smile. “I'll see you soon, then?” He's excited and nervous and so ready to see Grantaire. It's all bubbling up inside him.

“Yes,” Grantaire says. “Soon.”

“Okay,” Enjolras says. “Um. Bye?” It feels absurd to say goodbye and hang up the phone.

Grantaire laughs, and he sounds like his old self again. It settles Enjolras. “Bye,” Grantaire says, and hangs up. Enjolras doesn't think he could have.

 

“You're an idiot, by the way,” Grantaire tells him, later.

Clearly he's gotten over the shock of Enjolras finding out. “Rude! What happened to being nice to me?” Enjolras asks, fake-insulted.

Grantaire laughs, softly, and kisses him.

“It's not my fault I don't listen to the radio,” Enjolras protests, pulling away from the kiss. Grantaire kisses his jaw instead. “And you _know_ my twitter is just for show.”

“I know,” Grantaire says. “Now shut up and kiss me while my beautiful album dedicated to your arse plays.”

 

Enjolras puts down the lipstick and looks at himself in his mirror, apraisingly. He's still not sure he looks like the boyfriend of world-famous Grantaire should look, even after three years of public dating, or perhaps because of three years of public dating, but he knows Grantaire likes the way he looks.

“We're going to be late!” Courfeyrac yells through from the living room.

“I'm coming!” Enjolras yells back, pulling on his shoes and grabbing his coat off his bed. He allows himself one last look at himself in the mirror, and grins at his eager expression.

 

When near the end of his set, Grantaire tells the room that the love of his life is here tonight, and invites Enjolras up onstage, Enjolras is so embarrased he can hardly breathe, but he comes out from his place just offstage and takes hold of Grantaire's outstretched hand.

“I know you didn't come here to see my boyfriend, but look at him!” Grantaire says through the mic, and Enjolras throws his head back and laughs as the audience cheers.

Grantaire gets him sat down on a stool centre stage, turned towards Grantaire's mic, and Enjolras laughs and blushes his way through a song sang directly to him. It _is_ one of his favourites.

“And now, a few words from the man himself,” Grantaire says, and passes Enjolras the mic. Enjolras blinks at him in shock, mouthing ' _what_?' at him.

' _Go on_ ,' Grantaire mouths back.

“Um,” Enjolras says into the microphone. The crowd laughs, and Grantaire does too, and it makes Enjolras realise what to say. “The government don't give a shit about most of you so make yourself heard at every opportunity. Never pass up a chance to vote, protest for the things that are important in life, research charities that really do help and donate, and don't be afraid to fight for your right to live free from poverty and pain.”

He passes the microphone back to Grantaire, who's grinning at him. Grantaire holds up the mic and says, “Look up les-amis.co.uk, hyphen in bewteen les and amis, and join our fight. Boys, non-binary people, and girls, you deserve a say in life. Now, give a huge hand to my boyfriend, Enjolras, and this is-”

Enjolras kisses him in the middle of his sentence. It's rude, and this is Grantaire's concert, but Enjolras loves him so much he can't help it. The crowd scream and stamp their approval anyway, and Grantaire's hand is in Enjolras' hair, and everything has changed.

“I love you!” Enjolras shouts to Grantaire when they pull apart, and then he turns to Grantaire's audience and takes a bow, before running off the stage.

The rest of the concert is pretty good too. Enjolras can't take his eyes off Grantaire.

 

**Author's Note:**

> please tell me what you think should be in the tags bc i dont have a clue on this one
> 
> Check me out on [twitter](%E2%80%9Ctwitter.com/wonderfeuilly%E2%80%9D) if you’d like! And if you enjoyed this: [buy me a coffee?](http://ko-fi.com/A831F9U)
> 
> also this sucks to do but if you're feeling more generous than a coffee my paypal is cait@thereeves.org.uk  
> obviously only if you have the spare cash, but i could do with a little bit of money if you can
> 
> anyway now that i've stopped begging for money,,,,,,,this was really fun to write i love r as a singer please talk to me about it!! :)


End file.
